


The Grief Inevitable

by Maeve_Pendergast



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: After Zuko's Coronation, Brief Descriptions of Injury, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Firebending, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Sparring, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28225563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeve_Pendergast/pseuds/Maeve_Pendergast
Summary: He knew it was going to happen some time. It had to, right? But he had been saying ‘not yet’ for so long, he forgot he didn’t have a say after all.Zuko and Grief become acquainted too early.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	The Grief Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING: short description of someone deliberately burning themselves
> 
> Thank you to my friend S for sticking around from the time this was a few sentences entitled #heartbreak all the way to its completion now. Your unwavering support as I sent you snippets and paragraphs without context or explanation was so very appreciated.

“I’m sure it’s not up to your standards, Firelord, but please enjoy.” The woman remarks nervously as she bows, the tray in her hand miraculously staying put. Diplomatic trips were never fun and Zuko hated his visits to the Northern Water Tribe the most. The people were always nice, the food decent (if not a little bland), but the _weather_. Despite the fire in his veins, he was _always_ cold when with the Water Tribes. No amounts of furs could keep him comfortable so he made his visits short and efficient. 

Zuko smiles gently at her, “Nonsense, it is very kind of you to offer. I’m sure it’s perfect.”

To prove his point, he takes a sip of the tea and immediately stifles a wince. It’s much too sweet, the taste of honey too cloying on his tongue. But he tries to drink it anyway, it was a thoughtful gesture (and his uncle would have his head for wasting tea). 

_Uncle…_ Suddenly the liquid in his cup is the most unappetizing thing he’d ever heard of. Just looking at it makes him sick. When his host turns for a moment, Zuko heats the tea up so hot, it all just evaporates away. 

It had only been two months since the funeral, the entire Fire Nation had showed up. Iroh was a former royal after all. When a member of the royal family dies, the next of kin must carry the urn through the capital from the Inner Caldera to Harbour City. It represented the transition from life to death, the deceased’s spirit moving away from its home. 

His friends weren’t allowed to help him with his armour or even be in the room. Only Zuko alone could don his ceremonials. The white ivory has been polished and the firebender hated the way it looked. It was much too formal, much too old. His uncle would have hated all this pomp and circumstance. Zuko had kept his eyes fixed on the ground from the moment the palace gates opened to show him in his heavy white ceremonial armour. The streets of the capital had been packed as their Firelord walked towards the harbour, the silent young man with a box clutched in his hands. 

There isn’t much he remembers after that. The walk had been long and he had nearly collapsed after. He was vaguely aware of a carriage ride back to the palace in the dark and his head resting on Sokka’s shoulder. 

The news had come via messenger hawk. He was in the middle of a meeting, bored half out of his mind, when the bird had come soaring in through the window. It was unusual, most hawks go to the aviary first but this was Iroh’s personal bird, Heping. Unrolling the parchment casually, he read it expecting some update on the shop or an amusing story from someone Uncle had met. 

It was his advisors who noticed the change. The Firelord stood up abruptly, his face ghostly pale.

“This meeting is adjourned.” were the only words, his voice sharp and severe. It didn’t matter that they were only halfway through the long agenda, Firelord Zuko rarely spoke that way. This had to be something very important. Hastily, they gathered their scrolls and left. The moment the heavy wooden doors of the room shut, the puppeteer keeping Zuko upright cut his strings. A passing servant heard his frantic sobbing and carefully entered the chamber. The leader of their nation sat on the floor with knees pulled to his chest; the red and gold of his robes pooled around him like water. He looked so young at that moment. So much like the young child that had once walked the hallways, looking for his mother and his purpose. Jiu carefully cleaned up the dishes and papers piled on the table. As she turned to leave, the shifting of fabric attracted her attention. The man held out a hand towards her and in it, a crumpled piece of parchment. Jiu slowly grabbed it and read it. Horror blanched her features and she threw her arms around him and held tight. Nothing registered in her mind that said, _this is the Firelord, he has so much power, you can be put on trial for this._ No. The only thing she thought was, _this man, too young for the burdens he bears, needs help._

In the servant’s arms, Zuko sobbed and sobbed.

* * *

Somehow, a message managed to be sent to Chieftain Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe. Toph had also been informed and hopped on the first boat to the island but it was still at least a two-day trip from Republic City to the capital. Only a matter of sixteen hours after Zuko received the hawk, a sky bison landed in the palace courtyard. It seemed that Aang and Katara had been visiting Sokka at the time and together they had travelled all night. 

Even though they must have been up for hours, the three shoved off their weariness and exhaustion like robes. There were more important things to do, more important people to see. One of the guards led them to the Firelord’s chambers and left them there. It seemed that the man had shut himself inside and no one had been able to enter. Katara knocked softly on the door and they waited for a response. _Nothing._ Just as she planned to break down the door, a servant came scurrying around the corner with a small platter. _Please,_ she said, _he has not eaten in nearly a day. This might help._

Sokka kindly accepted the tray and bowed lightly, thanking her for caring. Aang and Katara tried knocking once more and the door latch finally released. Entering the room, they nearly tripped on him. He was huddled next to the door, dressed only in his loose pants and shirt. Zuko’s good eye looked up at them from his pale, tired face and Katara immediately lost all her composure. She sank to her knees and clutched the firebender tightly. 

_I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry._

But Zuko was silent, so terrifyingly quiet. No words spoken, just quiet sobs that echoed around the room like the whisper of wind. Aang and Sokka each took a seat next to the pair, not knowing what to do. It had been years since Sokka and Katara lost their mother and they had both been children. They’d been allowed to wallow in grief. Zuko was the leader of an entire nation. He wasn’t able to just toss away responsibility. It was the cruelest thing Sokka could imagine. Having all this grief trapped inside but still being forced to go to work everyday because your emotions were not your most important priority.

With dignity and composure much too old for his face, the scarred firebender had risen from the floor, donned his robes, and told his nation. _Iroh, former Crown Prince and General of the Fire Nation Army, has died. He is returning to Agni, as all firebenders do, so that he may be reborn into the spirit world._ Zuko conducted the ceremony, the funeral, the pyre, all himself the next day with an aloof and calm demeanor towards his staff. His friends however, saw the other side. The side where he would stumble into his chambers between meetings, unable to breathe through the pain. The side where the smell of tea would send him running. The side where he slowly crumbled, piece by piece, and how he tried to put himself back together. 

When Toph finally arrived, the careful facade Zuko had built finally gave way to the waves. Her ship had come in to port early thanks to good winds and weather and she’d nearly run the entire way to the palace. The gates had opened immediately for her, everyone recognizing the barefoot girl with moons in her eyes. They showed her up the main steps of the palace and then left her, knowing better than to ask if she needed help. 

The earthbender slammed her foot down against the stone of the veranda, feeling for those four familiar sets of feet. Katara, Aang, and Sokka were imperceptible meaning they had either left the palace or were still in bed. Iroh’s pyre had been yesterday afternoon and the traditional final walk had been conducted in the evening, meaning it was likely they were all exhausted. 

The warmth of sunlight on her back told her that the sun was still low in the sky. Her ship had come in very early indeed. But towards the back of the complex, she could feel vibrations from just one set of feet. They would take a few rapid steps and then disappear from her sense for a moment before returning to the ground. She knew this kata well; she’d memorized everyone’s bending forms but firebenders always moved differently. More forceful and direct than waterbending but more acrobatic and fluid than earthbending.

Toph quickened her haste until she could feel the distinct warmth of fire against her skin and the rush of hot air in her ear.

“Hey Sparky.” 

The bender spins around at the voice, flames leaping to his fingers. _No, not a threat, not a threat. Just Toph… Toph._ Zuko opens his mouth and then closes it. He turns away and begins his kata again, this time with anger burning in his lungs. It breaks out much too quickly and he yells, breaking his form.

“How could he do that to me? How could he?! It’s so selfish of him to just leave! He just left me to take care of this nation all by myself and I _can’t!_ I don’t know how to run a nation, I can’t do this! I’ve been scraping by for years, just barely making it with his advice. And he left! He just _abandoned_ me to do this on my own and I don’t know how! Toph, I need help but everyone just keeps looking at me with this horrible pity in their eyes and it just makes it worse because all it does is remind of _him_.” 

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I _can’t_ look at you.” 

“And I wish I couldn’t!” 

If Toph could have seen the snarl on Zuko’s lips, she would have realised just how _terrifying_ he looked to other people. The mangled mass of scar tissue on his face, the bitter ochre of his eyes, the sickening twist of his lips, it all fused together to make the young man look vitriolic and jaded.

“What?!” She sputtered, completely startled by his outburst. 

Zuko turned around, eyes burning with something stronger than anger, _sorrow_. “You heard me! I wish I couldn’t see and you know why? Because I had to stand there behind the pyre and pretend like I didn’t want to throw myself on with him! Because I had to watch his body turn to ash and pretend like I was okay! I wish, I wish… I wish I had died with him!”

The young girl could feel his pulse pounding like a rabaroo, “Whoa, Sparky, hey. Sit down before you pass out.” 

He stumbled, feet and heartbeat uneven, to the stone steps. Toph sat down next to him, not risking a hand on his arm yet, instead pressing her palm to the damp rock. 

“You know there was nothing you could do, right?”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Zuko spit out bitterly.

“Because we don’t like seeing you in pain and we want to help. Have you slept at all?” She _knows_ his unscarred eye would have a dark crescent underneath it. There always had to be one beneath its golden iris. Zuko didn’t sleep much during the war and now that he was trying to patch together a world torn apart by war and genocide, he slept even less.

“Couldn’t. Had to keep vigil. I didn’t want him to get lost.” 

“What vigil?”

His heart beats slower than before but he still inhales raggedly. “I didn’t want Uncle to get lost on his way to the spirit world. Had to stay up to make sure he had a light to guide him.”

“Oh, Zuko. Why didn’t you ask Sokka or someone else to do it with you?”

“Had to be me, nobody else knows what to do.” There’s misery in his voice but the thinnest knife’s edge of acrimony glints bright and sharp. Something in her heart desires to dull that edge, make it bite less. So she does what Katara does when the livewire in the earthbender sparks out of control, she reaches out and places a hand on Zuko’s thigh. _Physical contact, for those who enjoy it, can do wonders for anxious or upset patients,_ she can hear Katara explain. 

“But that doesn’t mean you had to do it by yourself. I know you always had to do things alone because of your piece of filth of a dad but it’s not that way anymore. You’re not alone.”

“Toph, he’s _gone_. I am alone.”

“No, now see that’s not fair. Not fair to yourself and certainly not to us. Your friends are still here. We may not understand what you need to do but that doesn’t mean we won’t be there. You are not alone, Zuko. I don’t know how to convince you of this other than to just show you. Let the blind girl show you how to see.” 

A pause, as heavy as the fog settled in the caldera. 

“When did you suddenly get so wise?”

“I spend too much time with Aang and Katara to not pick up anything. And if you tell them that I said that, _I will bury you under so much rock you’ll never be found._ ” The young girl threatens and the ground beneath them rumbles a warning.

The firebender lets out a breathy laugh and squeezes Toph’s hand, “I promise.”

“Come on, let’s go raid the kitchen. I’m starving.” 

Zuko smiled, a tiny real smile. Toph may not have seen it but she knew it was there.

* * *

There’s too much work for him to catch up on. The Fire Nation can’t stop on account of him. There are reparations and treaties to make, people and places to save. He has too many things to do, he can’t stop and breathe. But part of him doesn’t want to. Because breathing means thinking and thinking means _those thoughts_ come back. The ones of Uncle smiling, a glint in his eyes. The ones of him saying ‘ _my nephew_ ’ with nothing but love in his voice. _Those_ thoughts are the ones that haunt him now. 

His friends don’t understand, he can’t make them. They’ve all experienced loss but their losses are all different. Everyone’s loss is different. You can’t tie grief neatly up with silk ribbon; you can’t pack away in a box. 

The papers cover his desk with reminders of meetings he has and decisions he must make. But right now, all he wants to do is sleep; to try to ignore the world for just a bit. But night is the worst. Grief is different in the dark, somehow more potent and aching than during the day. The combination of silence and imagination makes those emotions strike deeper. Night makes a grieving person do unpredictable things, desperate for just a single night’s respite from the pain. 

A servant has started a fire in the hearth, warming the room against the cool evening air and Zuko holds out his hands towards the grate, feeling them warm before rubbing his face. He pauses, a terrible thought forming in his head but he is too tired for something to tell him it’s wrong. The fire flickers in his eyes, making the golden irises gleam wickedly. 

“Would that make you happy? Would this make everything better? Would it bring him back, Agni? Would you let him come back?” 

The flames in the hearth whispered to him, _do it. He wants you to do it. You must give something of yourself up to please Agni._

Reaching out, feeling the heat grow, Zuko clamps his hands around the red hot coals and bites down on his tongue, tasting blood. It is agony incarnate but he won’t let go, using his bending to make them burn even hotter. He can’t let go. _This is what Agni wants. If he wants Uncle back, he has to do this._ The coals in his hands eventually cool and the young man stumbles backwards, away from the embers and into unconsciousness. 

The room is cold when he wakes. The hint of light behind the curtains tells him it’s still early morning. _That’s good, that’s good. Nobody has seen me yet._ The firebender spares a glance at his hands and immediately gags into his elbow. They looked awful, the burns almost as deep as his face was at the start and that had taken a year to heal. He’d have to ask Katara... but then she’d ask how he got it, and if he lied then there’d be even more questions and it would just spiral. _No._ He could handle this; he’d handled worse. _Salve, wrap, work. Salve, wrap, work._

In the bottom of his wardrobe is a silk tunic. It slides through his fingers like water, cold and soothing against the open sores. The gold fabric is showing its wear, he had not worn it in many years. His mother had given it to him for his tenth birthday, showing him the tiny red dragons she had delicately embroidered along the edge. He’d worn it at every chance, reveling in its ethereal strength.

A thumb brushed over the dragons flying along the edge and he can imagine his mother spending hours in her room, stitching the thousands of scales with thin thread. Zuko winced as he tore the tunic into long strips, slipping the embroidered edge into his pocket. He wanted to keep that.

There was a small pot of burn salve tucked into his desk drawer. It was made with owl-bee honey and the smell tickled his nose. It reminded him of cold lonely nights at sea, feeling as unmoored and lost as the ship. Careful to not stretch the skin on his hand, he spread the cream across both palms and bound them with the strips of silk. They still hurt, _Spirits did they hurt,_ but it would have to do. _The pain meant little if it allowed Uncle to return._

After an hour of staring at paperwork, his stomach had begun to growl. He hadn’t been very hungry recently but maybe today, he could at least try. That’s all he had to do, try. The sun behind his curtains was brighter now meaning it was closer to a reasonable hour for breakfast. Zuko sighed and tugged on an overrobe. His footsteps were soft against the palace floor, the hallways empty save for a few guards who bowed as he passed. 

Sokka and Aang must have risen before him and were engaged in a lively discussion when he entered the informal dining room. They both greeted him and he managed a gentle greeting in response as he lowered himself onto a zabuton. 

Wei, the kitchen servant, approached him at his seat and bowed lightly, “The sun shines bright today, my lord. What would you like for morning meal?”

“Just a little bowl of congee please, Wei. With ginger and peanuts.” 

“Of course, Firelord.” the servant bowed and retreated towards the back hallway.

Aang turned to face the firebender and pointed a finger at him threateningly, “Settle an argument for us, Zuko. Which are better, lycherries or moon peaches?” 

“Well, I’ve only ever had moon peaches a few times and they were good but we have lycherry trees in the orchard here so I’ve always had them. I guess lycherries then? Maybe it’s just nostalgia but I think they’re better.”

“Ha! I was right!” Sokka smirked at Aang, who pouted in return. 

“But moon peaches are so soft and sweet! Oh and when they’re ripe, they drip juice down your chin!” the young boy sighed, gazing into the distance fondly. 

“I’ll tell you what, Aang. Come planting season, we can plant a whole row of moon peaches in the orchard.”

The airbender lit up, his eyes bright and wide “Really?!” 

Zuko smiled lightly, “Yeah, kid. Absolutely.”

At that moment, the side door opened and Wei shuffled in, a tray loaded with silverware and dishes in his arms. It seems that when the Firelord had said he “only wanted a little bowl”, the young man had taken that as “bring the entire vat”. The bowl was heaping with steaming hot congee and Zuko’s stomach rumbled once more. 

But that little glimmer of elation would soon go to waste. As the servant approached the table, his pointed shoe snagged the edge of the floor mat and sent the tray careening towards the leader of the Fire Nation. Congee spilled everywhere, splattering onto Zuko’s robes and face. 

From their side of the low table, Sokka and Aang shared a gasp and Wei immediately paled. The young man started frantically mumbling apologies and brushing off his lord’s clothing.

“Wei, _Wei._ ” The Firelord stressed, his voice calm and steady, “It is okay. It was an accident.” 

“No, my lord, I am sorry. I will get you new robes, please, I will wash these myself.” 

“No, that won’t be necessary. Just a wet cloth will be fine. Please, take a deep breath. It is okay. No harm done.” 

Sokka’s eyebrows pinched. Zuko’s voice had switched into the same stoic tone that he had delivered Iroh’s death notice in. It was his “official business” voice, the one he used when the emotions were too strong, the voice he could hide behind. But why would spilled rice cause that? That voice was reserved for important meetings with frustrating politicians, people he didn’t like, bad food, and when he was in pain.

_Oh no. That was it, wasn’t it? Zuko was in pain. Spirits, Sokka you’re thick. Of course he was. He’d just lost the man he considered his father, he would be in pain. But this sounded stronger, more tangible._

Over the many years since they had first crossed paths, Sokka had gotten quite good at recognizing the firebender’s different voices. He had a wide variety of them in fact and anyone who knew them could immediately tell what kind of mood Zuko was in. It wasn’t Sokka’s fault that this infuriated the man. If he didn’t want his voice to be dissected every time he spoke, he really ought to start speaking more all together! He’d started speaking about personal matters more but he still chose to focus on work as if expressing normal human emotions was too unnatural. So in the brief conversations outside of Zuko’s ‘lordy-lord business” (affectionately named so by Toph), they could tell how his day had gone, if he’d eaten enough, whether he missed the turtleducks, everything. It was like translating a foreign language, one only five people knew.

“Hey, do you feel up to spar today? Just a quick one, burn off some energy?” Sokka probed, hoping to give Zuko a distraction from his grief. 

Zuko predictably declined, “I have a lot of meetings and papers to look over. Maybe another day.” 

But before Sokka could respond, Aang interjected.

“Come on, Zuko. It would be good for you. Don’t firebenders need the sun? Something about their connection to Agni?” A sudden flinch ripples across the firebender’s shoulders and Aang frowns.

“It’s true. You have been looking a little pale recently.” calls a fourth voice, startling the small group. Katara appears to have awoken and come for breakfast. She sits down at the chabudai, her hair already up in its traditional style. 

Zuko’s eyes narrow, “Why do I get the feeling this was planned? I told you, I have too much work to do. The agriculture minister is expecting the harvest reports, the Northern Water Tribe asked for assistance with their food rationing, and after all that I have to meet with the navy admiral and the new ambassador for Republic City, and _then_ I can think about maybe having time to finally finish the missives to all the councilmembers that were due days ago!”

“Alright that seals it, you’re coming out into the gardens with us for a little bit, you don’t have to spar-” Sokka added after Zuko raised a hand in protest, “but you at least have to sit in the grass for a few minutes. Otherwise I’ll wake up Toph and she’ll _make_ you come with us.” 

The threat of being dragged through the halls by the earthbender was enough for Zuko to sigh in defeat. Aang and Sokka cheered while Katara smiled. 

They finished their breakfast relatively quickly (including Zuko’s new bowl of congee). Toph appeared towards the end, inhaling a bowl of rice and grilled fish so fast it should have been a competitive sport. The sun had risen over the caldera’s lip casting a bright glow across the gilded edges and eaves of the ancient palace as they moved out to the courtyard.

Sokka’s new sword glinted in the morning light and Zuko’s dao were blades of pure amber as he twirled them in his hands. His silk-wrapped, severely burned, agonizing hands. 

“I’ve been practicing.” Sokka bragged, a smug grin on his lips. 

“Good, maybe you’ll finally be good enough to spar with Aang.” 

“Aang? But he can’t swordfight!” the tribesman replied. 

“Exactly.” Zuko found himself smirking. The offended expression on Sokka’s face was enough to make him forget about his pain for just a minute. 

Their weapons clashed as they parried and lunged, the din covered by Aang, Toph, and Katara’s cheers. The firebender had to admit, Sokka had improved. His technique had gotten better and his footwork was as refined as a master bender’s. 

But pounding through the clash of metal on metal is his pain again. It’s physical and mental. It’s his body screaming at him, _look! Feel me. I am here and you can’t escape me. You need to feel it, all of it. All the facets, all the recesses, every nook and cranny._ Gods, his hands hurt. His heart hurts. He just wishes he could talk to his uncle, tell him he wants to make it stop. He wants to quit, renounce his title, give it to someone else. But he knows he can’t. Nobody’s destiny is like his, nobody’s goals are the same. He has to do this to make sure the war he was born into doesn’t become the war he starts again. He wishes to be like his Uncle, only bound to each day, never having to make decisions that last years. His hands twinge painfully reminding him of his destiny and Zuko clenches them tighter around the dao’s hilts. 

Sokka charges at him and Zuko’s brain doesn’t move fast enough. He’s slammed backwards to the stone floor, suddenly losing all the breath in his lungs. The firebender can’t get another, he can’t breathe, he can’t breathe.

Someone calls out for him but he can’t recognize the voice. _Agni? Have you come for me?_ His lungs seize. _No. It can’t be Agni. It would never be Agni._

Zuko leaps to his feet, heaving to get air into his lungs. His brain is making the connection he never wanted and his dao move like water cutting through the air. Sokka can’t keep up, the tribesman calls mercy but there is no mercy in the firebender’s wicked gold eyes. 

“Zuko, stop!” Aang yells, his voice shrill and afraid. It sounds a million miles away and Zuko doesn’t listen. 

_Agni doesn’t care about him. He may have been born of Agni’s flame but it burns everyone the same. The gods are not in his favor, his face is a testament to that. His uncle is dead and Agni doesn’t care._

The scarred man looms over Sokka when the earth suddenly rumbles.

“Enough!” screams Toph, voice furious. She slams her foot to the ground and a pillar knocks Zuko backwards away from Sokka. Katara rushes to help her brother. Aang is close behind her. Together they help him stand before turning to look at Zuko. There’s fear in their eyes and it makes everything feel infinitely heavier. The firebender drops his weapons, a clatter that echoes through the courtyard, and stares at his friends. _Oh spirits, what has he done?_ He sobs a high-pitched and broken melody, bringing a shaking hand to his mouth. And then he does what he had never been able to do before, he runs away.

* * *

The Firelord had never been able to sit still. Not as a child and certainly not now. There were too many things on his mind, too many wounds to heal, too many voices yelling. 

So it wasn’t unusual to find the young man quietly pacing down hallways muttering to himself. Those present for Azula’s breakdown had at first been horrified to discover Zuko mumbling madly like his sister until a servant had interrupted him and seen, not madness, but confused exhaustion in those eyes. This was just the way he worked and they all learned to accept it. But this time, this was not anxious energy needing an outlet, this was strategic evasion from the eyes of his friends. 

He wanders the back halls where only servants move about. He’s avoiding his friends but nobody wants to stop him just yet. So they let the haunted man pass silently, only ghosts in his wake. The guards had seen him walk by four times before they finally sent someone to fetch Master Katara and give her a clue to the Firelord’s whereabouts. He couldn’t be mad at them if he found out they told Katara. It was a safety issue. If the palace was attacked, the benders would need to know where the Firelord was, right? Well, at least that’s what they hoped he’d believe. 

The young girl had sprinted through the halls before ducking into a secret hatch. _Whoa, it’s no wonder Zuko likes this area. You can move around without anyone knowing. For someone who is constantly swarmed by guards and politicians, this must be a sanctuary._ A few passing servants carrying baskets of linens bow as they see her. Katara dips in return bringing smiles to their faces and she hears them giggling down the hall. This place has changed so much in the few years of Zuko’s reign. So much brighter than the dark chambers of Ozai. There’s power here of course but also life and kindness. Things that would have made Ozai furious. Katara loves that about Zuko. His defiance of everything his father stood for is like a rebellion. A rebellion against a history of destruction and cruelty. A rebellion for the mother and uncle, victims of circumstance and family. A rebellion for the thirteen-year-old boy marred for just being kind. 

It’s not hard to find the firebender. Just wait in any hall and he’ll pass by eventually. The hardest part is convincing him to stop. 

“Hey Zuko.” A voice calls, sweet and gentle. He looks up sheepishly like a child caught stealing bannock from the kitchen.

“Katara, how did you-” he starts before realizing he knows exactly who ratted on him. The guards would be given a little chat later. 

“Are you, you know, better?” the waterbender asks quietly, aware of the people in nearby corridors. 

“Uhm, yeah. Is Sokka alright? I’m really sorry. I don’t really know what happened there.” The lie is effortless on his tongue. He knew precisely what happened. He’d lost his mind. He’d realized the gods don’t care about him at all. All the lessons his father told him about destiny and pleasing the gods and justifying the war as “Agni’s will”. That was all nonsense. And what did he expect from Ozai? He had no regrets about burning his son, why would he have any about lying to him?

“Yeah, Sokka’s alright. We’re all worried about you. Do you maybe want to come sit with us for a bit? Toph’s making those cool statues out of rocks.”

At this moment in the quiet hall, his hands spasm painfully and he hisses. 

Katara’s eyes go wide and she asks, “Zuko? What’s wrong?” 

He sighs, swallowing his shame and frustration, and steps into an empty side room.  
“Katara, I need your help.” 

“Of course. What can I do?” 

The firebender drops his eyes and slowly unwraps his hands. He hears Katara inhale sharply through her nose and he keeps his eyes down to avoid meeting those blue eyes. He couldn’t handle her judgement right now. 

She says nothing. Sparing a quick glance, he looks up and sees… not anger, not pity, but kindness. _She just wanted to help._

“What… what happened?” 

“I… I happened. I thought if I did it Agni would favor me and… and bring Uncle back. But I see now, Agni doesn’t care about me.”

“Oh Zuko, of course Agni favors you. Look at you, you are kind and strong and your bending, it’s beautiful. But at some point in our lives, we have to move on into the next world. Iroh moved on into the spirit world and nothing you do can bring him back. That’s just the way it is. It’s not fair and it hurts but hurting yourself? That won’t make it better... You know you can come to us about these things, right? No judgement. I promise Sokka won’t make any jokes.”

Before Zuko can bite his tongue he finds himself replying, “Are you sure you can promise that? He’s kinda unstoppable.” A tiny smile twists the waterbender’s lips. _That was true. Nothing can stop her brother except maybe hunger. He was a monster when hungry._

The firebender flexes his hands and immediately clamps down on his tongue, fighting nausea. Katara snags his arms and holds them still. He forces himself to focus on that feeling, the forgiving hands, the kind touch. It is a haven for his ever drowning soul. 

“Could you… maybe heal them? I… I don’t want them to get infected.”

Katara nods, unable to force words from her lips. A thin stream of water is pulled from a nearby jug and she pushes it on to his thin palms. It stings but Zuko says nothing, _he deserves this._ When the water pulls away, she lightly touches his hands to examine her work. In the center of each palm was a square pad of shiny red scar tissue surrounded by a smaller band of light pink skin like the ring of an ancient tree. His fingers bore similar remains of the burns, the inside of his fingers glossy and pink. The thickest scars are unlikely to disappear completely; Zuko would be carrying a reminder of this moment for the rest of his life. 

“Do they still hurt?” She poses, breaking the still air. 

“No, they feel fine. Thank you Katara for saving me from myself.” 

“Want to come with me back to the garden? Or you can just tell me to go away and I will.”

“I’d love to come.” Zuko smiles and holds out a freshly-healed hand. Katara grabs it tightly before pulling him in for a hug. 

“You are stronger than anything this world can give you but there is strength in numbers too.”

* * *

Katara has never been a planner really. The scheming and plotting had been primarily Sokka’s domain for years. He had a knack for figuring out the details, the what-ifs and the what-abouts. _Well, sometimes._ Other times the plans were pulled from the dusty scrolls in his head and pieced together from shattered porcelain and syrup. But when something needed to get done, he was just about the best person to ask and Katara did need something to get done. 

The sun was baking down in the palace gardens, leaving everyone stripped down to their underlayers. Aang and Sokka sat with their bare feet in the pond, lightly splashing each other. Katara chose the shade of the tree and reclined against it, preferring the cool grass to the water. And as usual, laying in the middle of the lawn was Toph and Zuko. The firebender had spread out on his back to soak up as much sun as he could and then had promptly fallen asleep. Toph sat at his left shoulder, her hand gently running over Zuko’s dark hair, now freed from its topknot.

“Is he still asleep?” Katara asked the earthbender who turned to look in her general direction. Toph pressed her hand against the ground firmly for a moment.

“Yep.” She replied, popping the last syllable.

“Okay, I have an idea and I want you to tell me if it’s absolutely crazy.”

“We should paint mustaches on all portraits in the library!” Aang interrupted, grinning madly.

“Ooh ooh! We could swap all the messenger hawks with turtleducks!” 

“No, none of that! I think we should go to Ba Sing Se.”

“Oooookay sister, you’ve been spending too much time with boring ol’ Zuko because _that_ is not a crazy idea.” Sokka quipped, using the sudden distraction to shove Aang into the pond. The airbender, now sitting drenched in the shallow water, stuck out his tongue at Sokka. 

“Yeah seriously Katara,” Toph chimes in, “that’s not unusual. We go to Ba Sing Se all the time.” 

“You didn’t let me finish! I think we should take Zuko to Ba Sing Se.”

“I’m still not getting it.” 

“I think we should take Zuko to Ba Sing Se to close his uncle’s tea shop. You know Iroh had his shop and how important it was to him? Well now that he’s gone, someone has to go clean it up and sell the building. I think we should go with him and help him do just that.”

“But won’t that be really hard? I mean Uncle Iroh meant everything to Zuko and having to deal with all those memories?”

“Yes, I think it’ll be very hard but it would be way harder to have him see a stranger do it. So what do you think?”

Aang’s eyes darted to the older boy, laying asleep in the warm sun. Zuko’s hands were upturned on his chest and they could see the patches of scar tissue. They hadn’t asked where those had come from but they were clearly very new. Katara stared at them like they were going to make her sick and that was enough to make Aang uncomfortable. _Maybe getting out of the palace would be good for Zuko, get him away from the empty hallways and missing chairs._

The airbender starts to speak, finding his voice suddenly dry. He clears his throat once and tries again, “I think it's a good idea. Zuko hasn’t left Caldera in ages.” 

Katara doesn’t respond directly but her eyes soften as if saying _thank you_. She turned to the other two conscious parties, “Sokka? Toph?” 

The earthbender shrugs, “Sure, why not? It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.” 

Sokka opens his mouth and pauses. There’s a moment of quiet and Katara holds her breath, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll go.” The tribesman finally responds and his sister exhales. 

Toph laughs, looking down towards Zuko and patting his hair. “Well, I guess that just leaves you, _sifu hotman_.” The man doesn’t wake but he sighs, deep and steady.

* * *

The Jasmine Dragon sat dark and empty for the first time in years. People walked by the door, sparing only glances at the young man standing in front of it. If anyone recognized him, they didn’t say anything. They know when grieving people want to be left alone.

He was nearly twenty-one but in that moment standing in front of his Uncle’s shop, he was thirteen again and struggling to find a kind soul in the world. 

The door squealed when he opened it, the air thick and stale. Nothing in the world could have prepared him for this. _What am I supposed to do now? What am I supposed to do with his business? Because I can pack up his things, his teapots, his books, but how do I pack up his existence here?_ He wishes he’d brought his friends with, instead of leaving them at their lodging. They could help, they always could help. He supposed he could ask his guards, standing plain-clothed out the front door but that felt wrong, sacreligious. He couldn’t ask strangers to help him with this. It wouldn’t be right.

Hanging on the wall above the counter was a picture, _his picture_. But not the official royal portrait where Zuko stood, stoic and strong. No, this one was different. In this one, he stood on the balcony, smiling brightly as he looked out onto his city. 

There were dozens of pictures on the wall, all drawn in dark ink and bright pencil. Ones of him, of his friends, of Uncle. He couldn’t bear to look at them and so instead busied himself with packing. 

In the dark backroom, Zuko dug around until he found a tea crate. It smelled of wood and dirt and all good earthy things. Blinking the tears away from his eyes, he began taking the frames off the walls and placing them into the box. 

One frame in particular made him stop. It was an image he remembered posing for just weeks after his coronation. In the picture, they all stood in a small group, arms wrapped tightly around each other in one of the plazas of the Western Air Temple. Still young and naive, shoulders not yet weighed down by time and loss; their smiles so genuine, so bright. Oh how he wished to be back in that moment and escape this part of his life. He just wanted to see Uncle again. It had been too long since they’d seen each other and he had been due to arrive in the capital soon but then… well, then it happened. 

As he reached down to put the picture frame in the crate, it slipped and careened to the floor. The glass shattered and the frame splintered into wood shrapnel. 

_No, no, no, no…_ With shaking hands, the firebender reached out and rescued the parchment from the mess, gently pulling it free. He slid it in between two other frames and then immediately dropped to the floor. 

Ragged sobs were the only thing heard in a shop once full of laughter and life. Time has a way of doing that. Time takes places of joy and transforms them into twisted wounds. The Jasmine Dragon had been Iroh’s life for so long and now, it was all that remained of his death. 

The door creaked open behind him and the dark room was suddenly awash with light. Sokka carefully stepped in followed by Toph, Aang, and Katara. Toph moved to sit next to the sobbing boy while Sokka and Katara swept up the broken frame from the ground. They did their work in silence until Zuko had calmed enough to breathe evenly. 

“Why-” he began and then immediately stopped, words abandoned.

Toph smiled, hand pressed to the ground beside her, “Because we couldn’t leave you to do this yourself. Nobody can do this by themselves. Even you, Sparky.”

Zuko found that he suddenly couldn’t breathe again. Not from grief but from pure gratefulness. They _understood_ him. They understood the entire complicated labyrinth of him.

“Sokka, go grab more crates from the backroom. Let’s pack up these frames first. We don’t want them to get damaged. Aang, can you bend all the dust away?” Katara called, smoothly transitioning into a new topic. 

The dust quickly disappeared out the window and the frames were all carefully wrapped in paper and packed in the crates. Katara would arrange to have them picked up later. Right now, they just needed to sit together and grieve. 

Sokka had never been good with emotions and opted instead to work on organizing the back room. Iroh had kept it rather neat, things unused stored in tidy boxes and shelves of teapots and cups were all in straight rows. A bulletin board listed the weekly specials, the order forms, and the employee roster. The list only had one unfamiliar name, Lian, but underneath were all of _their_ names. Zuko, Katara, Aang, Toph, and Sokka were all written in neat script.

Even despite miles and months between visits, Iroh kept them on the list. They always knew they could come in for a day to escape and be treated as if nothing had happened differently. The tribesman smiled to himself and kept searching the board. An unfamiliar note was pinned to it labeled “Zuko, Firelord” the latter word written below the name as if the author had forgotten they were addressing a royal. Curious, Sokka unfolded it.

It was a letter from Lian wishing condolences on Iroh’s passing and stating that he had taken the coinbox home in order to keep it safe. His address was listed as well and Sokka slipped the paper into his pocket making note to pay a visit to the man. He knew Zuko wouldn’t care about the money and would give it to Lian anyways but they should still stop by and wish him condolences. After all, Lian knew Iroh too. 

The front room is hushed when he reenters. _Did anything even get said? Maybe nothing did and that’s okay too._ Zuko’s face was sunk low to the table as if wilting minute by minute. Aang sat next to him, a hand tightly grasped around the man’s shoulder. 

The firebender was crying in the silence and Sokka immediately took a step back. Oh no, tears were not his thing, never had been, never will. But Katara noticed him and nudged her head towards the empty chair. 

Internally sighing, he walked over and took a seat. No words were spoken. They continued to remain silent and listen to Zuko cry. Sometimes that’s all someone needs to do. Sometimes people just need to cry. Eventually all the tears had been shed and Aang had been sent to retrieve a glass of water. Toph had coaxed Zuko to drink the whole thing and he did so sluggishly. 

Sokka clears his throat and everyone’s eyes turn to him. The firebender’s are a dull gold, the colour of wheat and sand. 

“This note was in the back. It’s from Lian?”

Toph’s face scrunches, “Who’s Lian?”  
“Uncle hired him a few months ago. They met in the market. Lian was desperate for a job and Uncle liked him. I’ve never met him. What does the note say?” 

“He expressed his condolences and says he will miss Iroh as well. He put his address down since he took the coinbox. I think we should go and meet him.”

Zuko looked positively ill at the thought of that and Sokka quicked amended his comment, “I mean Katara and Aang should go. Zuko and Toph can go back to the house.” 

“That sounds good, Sparky. You could use a good meal and some sleep.” Toph offers to the firebender who just nods. 

“Sokka, did the back room get all set?” His sister inquired softly.

“Yeah, it’s all packed into crates. I gave the food away to the kids out back. They looked like they could use it. They told me Iroh used to give them the leftovers.”

A dry laugh from Zuko made everyone start, “Of course Uncle did. Always needed to help… Can you, can you give me a minute? And then we can go.” 

“Of course, Zuko. We’ll be just outside.” Katara reassured. Aang’s brow pinched wearily, wondering if leaving him alone was really a good idea. The waterbender looked at him and flicked her chin towards the door and he acquiesced.

The room was as empty as now as it had been at opening. Zuko had been persuaded to take a week off to help set up shop. His uncle had hung a picture of his nephew up right away, laughing affectionately when the young man blushed. They’d swept and cleaned and stocked before opening the doors. It was an honor to have the Firelord at the ceremony and hundreds had shown up. The tables were full and the conversation lively and bright. And through it all, his uncle had smiled, joked, and chatted. 

But now the shop was empty and dormant, like the space next to Zuko’s side. The crates were piled up in the middle, ready to be sent back to Caldera. He’d look through them there, maybe by then he wouldn’t get sick at just the thought. 

There was nothing left for him here but ghosts of memories. They’d come with him, following behind his steps forever.

The door was locked, the building shuttered, Iroh’s life gone. His friends stayed closed as they walked away, all silently ignoring the tears rolling down Zuko’s face.

* * *

The Firelord was set to be married in a month, Iroh had cried with joy when he found out and made Zuko promise to let him give a speech. The young man knew that his uncle had been writing it ever since. But now… now the seat next to him would be empty, the father of the groom missing. His uncle would never come for dinner, never make another cup of tea. The wedding had been delayed, Zuko too consumed in grief and work to give his bride the proper ceremony she deserved.

Iroh didn’t want to be buried in the family shrine. He didn’t belong there, he‘d always said. _Too many bad people and bad memories. Put me somewhere peaceful. Somewhere the wind blows soft and the sun shines bright._

Zuko knew exactly where he meant. In the early morning, when the fog is still dense across the walled city, he walks. And walks, and walks. It’s an eerie echo of the walk through his capital but he prefers the unknown nature of this one. Nobody knows who he is or what he carries. He’s dressed in simple clothes, a hood pulled over his face and the box carefully tucked in his satchel. There’s an envelope of tea in his bag too but he has no desire to steep it. 

He knows this place, Iroh had brought him here only once. The other times the man had asked to go alone. Just weeks after Zuko’s coronation, Iroh had brought him to the tree and told him the story. The _real_ story of what happened during the siege and why it had changed his fate so much. How Lu Ten had been barely recognizable when they found him, how his golden hairpiece was the only thing that proved who the body was, how Iroh had been sick for months afterwards, never being able to get that image out of his mind. 

Zuko hadn’t been able to see his cousin before the funeral. His body was carefully wrapped and burned on the pyre, no one but Uncle knowing how bad it had been. 

Under the tree, you can see so much of the city. All the way to the outer wall, the one that Uncle always closed his eyes at when they passed it. The green fields started to appear, the fog lifting as morning broke. 

Zuko had brought four things with him to the tree. The urn, with its red and gold edges; a packet of tea leaves, still fragrant and fresh; and two pieces of parchment, one with the image of a young man gone from the world for many years and one bearing the lyrics to a song Zuko had only heard Iroh sing once. He hand digs the hole, using an old teacup as a trowel. It faces southeast, towards the sun, towards the warmth, _towards Agni._

_Sorry for wasting the tea leaves, Uncle. Someday, when we’re both in the spirit world, I’ll make it up to you. I know right now, you’re waiting for your leaves to steep, ready to share tea with Lu Ten again. Tell him I say hi._


End file.
